


Honeymoon

by duesternis



Series: Shoot me down and lift me up [8]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Breakfast in Bed, Communication, Crime syndicate Au, Drama, Drinking, Family Problems, Fights, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Not Overwatch AU, Swordfights, finally some good stuff happens, gunfights, hanzo plots things while drunk, jesse makes breakfast, like they actually talk about stuff for once, talks of marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 09:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8051617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duesternis/pseuds/duesternis
Summary: A trip to Japan and getting to meet the in-laws. But don't you need a marriage for a honeymoon?
Also: Drama and fights, breakfast and kisses.
-------------------Part eight of a series of Crime-Syndicate-AU ficlets. There will be a continuity.





	Honeymoon

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy this, I certainly did!

Hanzo exhaled and watched his breath cloud in the cold air.  
Hanamura was dusted with snow and frost. Neon lights painted colourful dots on the white streets.  
He tugged his haori closer around his shoulders and adjusted the fit of his scarf around his throat.  
McCree beside him whistled a low, long note and jammed his hand into his pocket. He was wearing the jean jacket Hanzo had worn on the ride to New York.  
Along with the cloak.  
„Ain‘t seen somethin‘ so pretty in a while.“  
Hanzo allowed himself a small smile and looked up at McCree. „You should see it in spring. Come now.“  
A dark car was waiting for them at the curb and the door opened, as Hanzo approached. Their luggage was set into the trunk and Hanzo slipped into the backseat.  
McCree pocketed his unlit cigarillo and sat down next to Hanzo.  
There was sweat on his temple. Despite the cold.  
The door was closed mindfully and a moment later the car smoothly swerved into traffic. A dark pane of glass parted the cabin from the backseat and Hanzo was glad for it.  
Stretched his legs and rested the back of his hand along McCree‘s thigh.  
Surprised eyes and a pleased smile were like the first buddings of spring for Hanzo.

„We will need another half hour until we arrive at the family home.“  
„All right with me, darlin‘.“ McCree leaned his shoulder against Hanzo‘s and took his hat off.  
His tousled hair needed trimming. Much like his beard. He looked like a shaggy dog.  
A finger followed the shape of McCree‘s jawline under all the hair. Wide and strong. What would it look like without the beard?  
Handsome, Hanzo decided. Fierce and smart. Loose and proud, like the finger on a trigger.  
McCree moved his face against Hanzo‘s hand and pressed a kiss to the pad of the middlefinger. Then the pointer, the ringfinger, the pinky. Last came the thumb.  
Hanzo watched him with bated breath.  
The beard was coarse against his skin and the breath hot. The scent of sun and hot stone, cedar and leather slowly filled the back of the car.  
„Jesse.“  
A low hum, rumbling in the broad chest and painting the air a warm, vibrant colour.  
Hanzo shifted out of his haori and folded it carefully on the window seat. It was warm in the car. McCree somehow managed to take his jacket off, without as much as moving the cloak.  
Still with only one hand. Something Hanzo was constantly turning over in the back of his head.  
The single hand snaked into Hanzo‘s left sleeve and skirted the dragon‘s body with bold fingers. Short nails scraping the skin.  
A shiver rippled the scales and McCree‘s warm breath was on Hanzo‘s neck. The scarf was gone and Hanzo had no idea where it had gone or when.  
Damn cowboy.  
„Jesse.“ A warning.

Met with a huff of laughter and a short peck to Hanzo‘s jawline, where his cropped beard started to fan out into a dustier pattern.  
„Just can‘t help myself, with you sittin‘ there all prim and proper.“  
„Learn restraint. You will need it over the next few days. My father and the Elders will not take as kindly to your demeanor as the men stationed in America did. They are not at all used to disrespect and slander.“ A pause. Hanzo huffed. „At least not without retaliation. And I would prefer you left Japan as whole as you came.“  
He looked at McCree from the side, a sly smile curving around his mouth. His hand danced over McCree‘s shoulder and rubbed the fabric of the cloak between thumb and forefinger.  
„Aw, hell. Wouldn‘t we all?“ McCree rubbed a hand over his face and peeked at Hanzo over his thumb. His eyes were warm and crinkled at the corners.  
A woosh of flapping wings opened the cavity of Hanzo‘s chest and let the sun in. Airing out a room, long kept closed and covered, white sheets on furniture billowing in the breeze.  
„Yes.“  
Hanzo folded his hands in his lap, adjusted his feet and looked out of the window. The streets flitted past, people ducking against cold winds, out early on their way to work. A handful of crows was tearing through a bin in a park  
McCree‘s hand tapped a rhythm against the windowframe on the other side of the car and Hanzo scooted up to his own window, letting air rush into the space between his shoulder and McCree‘s stumpy arm.  
The brown eyes turned to him, sharp like a hound‘s. „Darlin‘?“  
„Restraint.“ Hanzo shot him a gaze, filled to the brim with tender amusement, contrast to his harsh voice.  
A huff, tinged with laughter, painted with faux pain.  
Hanzo snorted and turned to the window, cradling his chin in his palm. He laughed softly at his own reflection.  
Had he turned to the other side, he would have seen McCree look at him with starry eyes; mouth a soft shape, not unlike a smile.  
Hanzo did not see.

 

The Shimada family home was huge.  
A stretch of loping roofs, and gardens set between, wooden walkways and ponds, alive with fish. Something like a tower build from stacked houses in the middle. A looming reminder of power and old age.  
All dusted with white, nestled into the silence of winter.  
Something chimed somewhere, high on the wind. Eerie and otherworldly, it made the hairs on Jesse‘s arms stand on end.  
„Hell.“  
Shimada at his side inhaled and stepped on the gravel of the path leading to a pair of sliding doors. They had left a huge gateway in their backs.  
His traditional shoes made a crunching wooden noise on the small stones. Jesse‘s boots were louder.  
Every step announced his jangling, unfitting, unbecoming presence in the patriarchal complex.  
A sharp anxiety filled him, made him giddy to his toes and spread his cheeks in a grin, teeth sparkling and eyes alight. The same feeling he had gotten when his teachers had called for him to come to them after lessons, disappointment dripping from their brows.  
The same feeling that had filled him when the Boss had called for him after a coup gone awry.  
Adrenaline and the knowledge that he had messed up, didn‘t mix well with the feeling of having done the best possible thing.

Goons followed them with a polite distance. Their shoes were nearly as silent as Shimada‘s sandals and Jesse gave his heels some extra weight to let the spurs turn loudly.  
He whistled a high, reedy melody, something from an old western. A show-down.  
Shimada chuckled, face set in a regal mask.  
„Clichés, Mister McCree, are often rooted in reality.“  
„Legends too, Mister Shimada.“  
The sliding doors parted down the middle and Jesse peered inside, expecting a long row of bowed heads left and right. A lane for the heir to walk down to the father.  
An empty room greeted them.  
Dark floors, like the edge of a canyon in the night, and walls hung with tapestries. There was no furniture anywhere.  
A fluting voice spoke clear Japanese from the floor.  
Jesse tilted his head around the door and saw a woman in a simple kimono kneel on the floor. Her forehead nearly touched the ground.  
Shimada didn‘t even look at her as he stepped inside and said something back in Japanese. The language made his voice even deeper, richer.  
Jesse couldn‘t help but picture Shimada atop a hill, wind ripping at his hair, whenever he spoke Japanese.  
With a fluid step the sandals slipped from Shimada‘s feet and his pristine white socks touched the dark wood of the elevated floor.  
„McCree, take off your boots before you step inside.“ Directed at him over a half-turned shoulder. Sweet.  
„Sure thing, Mister Shimada.“ Jesse tipped his hat at the woman by the door and sat down on the edge of the floor to pry his boots off one handed.  
It pulled at the tender skin over his ribcage and the low pulsing in his stomach rose to a sharp stab. Sweat ran along his nose and slipped into his eye.  
With a grunt the first boot came off and hit the floor with a thump.  
The woman was still kneeling at the door, face turned to the ground. Her cheeks were tinted pink.

The doorway was filled with the goons. They looked at him with cold eyes. One of them shivered in the wind.  
Behind him Shimada stood still. Jesse couldn‘t even hear him breathe.  
The second boot came off easier, nimble toes a great help.  
Jesse rose with a drawn out sigh and tugged at his serape as he climbed the step. He stood with Shimada again.  
The goons poured inside and orderly set their shoes aside. Not one sock touched anything else but dark wood.  
The woman finally closed the doors again, scooting on her knees to cover the distance her arms couldn‘t reach.  
Jesse felt disgusted by himself, watching her crawl on knees. A bitter taste, like bile or stale coffee, at the back of his throat. He sighed again and Shimada finally started walking.  
Again with the soundless steps. This time Jesse followed suit. His worn woolen socks gave him a little slide on the polished floor and with the giddiness still filling him he slid around the upcoming corner instead of taking it.  
A short burst of laughter was killed by a stern look from Shimada himself. Whose eyes were cold, but there was that tightness around them that meant a hidden smile.  
Jesse tipped his hat and grinned widely, loosely, trigger-finger-smart. „Pardon me.“  
„Restraint.“ Low enough that the following entourage of mute goons couldn‘t catch it. Which also added to Jesse‘s giddy heartbeat.  
„Right-o. Restrainin‘ myself real hard now.“ He huffed, rolled his shoulders and adopted a neutral expression. An unlit cigarillo was tucked into the corner of his mouth and with a roll of his tongue it bobbed up and down. Long, slow steps made him amble a short distance behind Shimada. In reach, out of ways.  
They went out of the house, over a wooden walkway above a pond. The cold painted a streak of colour on Shimada‘s cheeks.

In the next house they stepped into, they left their jackets at the door. Jesse stubbornly kept the serape and handed the jean jacket to the elderly attendant. His lined face had papery skin.  
Then the same elderly attendant led them through a set of rooms. The last one had a long row of actual windows, not just paper squares in wooden frames.  
It showed a snowy garden, a birdhouse stood lopsided near a pond.  
„There‘s a bathroom over there, freshen up.“ Shimada pointed with a long finger, letting the dragon peek out of his sleeve.  
„An‘ you, darlin‘?“ A wink was met with an exasperated stare, bordering on furious. Jesse cackled and slipped into the small bathroom.  
Modern faucets, modern toilet. A small shower. Green towels with white rims. There was a potted plant on a high windowsill. The light was warm and golden.  
Jesse took his shirts off and splashed his face and throat with warm water. The rosy skin over his ribs was tender with the cold and he carefully wiped the delicate patches with a soft towel.  
Wiped sweat from his neck and throat and from beneath his arms. Checked the nerve-endings just below his elbow with familiar ease and rinsed his mouth.  
Then he slipped his black undershirt on again, adjusted the high collar and buttoned his shirt with deft fingers. Then the serape in a trained flip over his shoulders.  
He opened all cabinets and drawers in search for a brush and found a comb. So Jesse gently tugged any and all knots out of his hair with the wooden comb. There was a bird etched into the light wood. Singing full throttle, beak opened wide.  
Jesse whistled and hummed, scratched his beard and set his hat on his head. Finger-gunned his own reflection and stepped back into the room.

Shimada was talking on a phone, one shoulder leaned against the window. They were alone.  
Jesse walked over to him and mimicked his stance so that they looked at each other. Japanese on the air between them.  
A few moments later the call ended.  
„Ya redressed.“  
„You didn‘t.“  
„Had no fresh shirt with me. Forgot to stuff one in my pocket before we boarded the flight. What a shame.“  
Shimada looked at him with a blank face. Then he looked at the garden, trying to hide a smile in the gesture. It didn‘t quite work out.  
„My father is in Tokyo and will only return tomorrow. My mother awaits me for dinner tonight.“ His breath frosted on the window pane. „She made it clear that she does not want any outsiders present.“  
Jesse shrugged and looked at the garden too. „Good with me. I‘m beat, so I damn well won‘t mind jus‘ stretchin‘ my legs out and callin‘ it a night.“  
The white garden shone with the glow from the window and Jesse yawned. Suddenly as tired as he had said to be. Damn jet lag.  
„Where can I hang my hat?“  
„This will be your room. The futon will be laid out in a moment. You will get something to eat.“ Shimada‘s eyes were fixed on the lopsided birdhouse. As if it anchored the world.  
„Your rooms?“  
„Down the hall. Accessible over the veranda.“ He pointed at a row of windows to the left side of the pond. A wooden walkway pressed itself against the walls and connected Jesse‘s windows to Shimada‘s.  
Shimada briskly turned from the window. Walked to the door and opened it. Looked at Jesse over his shoulder.  
„Get some rest. I will see you later today.“  
The door closed before Jesse could say anything. „Aww, blow me.“ He tossed his hat at a small table set close to the floor.  
It landed short of it on the rectangular mats that were whisper-quiet under his soles.

 

He woke sweaty after a few hours of fitful sleep. Sunlight painted the mats a warm sand and Jesse turned around on his mattress to look at the white garden.  
The snow was bright, thousands of diamonds spilled on white cloth, a hundred colours in the shine.  
He pushed the eiderdown quilt off his shoulders and sat up. Rubbed sleep from his eyes and sighed.  
There were voices all over the house, feet on wood and the occasional laugh danced through the warm air.  
He collected himself from the floor and relieved his bladder in the tiny bathroom. Now that Jesse was already there, he showered too and padded naked through his room.  
The weak sun felt good on his skin.  
He crouched by his backpack and pulled a fresh pair of shorts from it. Slipped them on and went for sweatpants and the sweater Shimada had gotten him. His favourite socks and a cigarillo in the corner of his mouth. His hair was still damp, the tips curled and soft.  
Even his beard felt soft under his hand.  
With a song on his lips and smoke billowing past them, Jesse opened the door to the veranda and inhaled the cold winter air.  
A bird twittered and hopped on the stones by the pond. Another one joined it and Jesse kept close to the wall. The last few inches of the wooden veranda were dusted with snow.  
He knocked on the glass to Shimada‘s room. Dark blue curtains were drawn against the light.

Nothing beyond moved.  
Jesse sighed and sat down by the windows. Smoked his cigarillo and soaked the rays of sun up.  
In Santa Fe the sun had had more power, even though it had been cold. Here there was barely any power to the light. Or maybe it was just because the whole place was unfriendly.  
Unfriendly faces, rules Jesse didn‘t know and the never waning dread of not being able to anticipate.  
Anticipating the next move of any of the Shimadas was nigh impossible.  
He exhaled smoke with a pressed sound. Swallowed a lump in his throat and rubbed his hand over his brow.  
His Shimada could get hurt, just because Jesse had no idea what could possibly go down.  
Jesse forced a breath through his tight throat and groaned. His headache was coming back and the newish injuries and old bruises smarted faintly in the cold.  
„Shit, fuck, damn. Yer fucked, McCree. Shoot yerself and it all‘d be easier, ya damn motherfuckin‘ idiot. Shit, fuck me.“  
He shivered violently and thumped his head against the window in his back. Inhaled and exhaled forcefully while his heart tried to pry his ribcage open with a crowbar. Alternatively it would like to crawl out of his throat.  
With shaking fingers Jesse stubbed his cigarillo and closed his eyes.  
Didn‘t help.  
So he opened them again and started to count the stones around the pond (48), the wooden pillars holding the veranda-roof (29 that he could see), the small statuettes hidden in the snow (5, maybe).  
When he started counting windows his breath came easier and the shaking slowly subsided.  
Jesse chuckled, shook his head and wiped sweat from his brow. Thumped his head against the window again.  
It opened in his back and he tried to catch himself with his left arm.

A hand cupped the back of his head and kept him upright, a knee digging gently into his spine.  
„Good morning.“ Shimada‘s voice was a blessing. Soft and warm like coffee and spicy like cinnamon.  
„Mornin‘, darlin‘.“ Jesse grinned up at the man and felt his heart stroke his ribs with tender, aching thumps.  
„Come inside.“ The hand carefully retreated and Jesse pulled himself up on the windowframe and came inside the room.  
„Wow.“ He laughed breathlessly and wiped his hand on his sweatpants. Everything was very... Hanzo.  
Not at all what he had pictured last night. This morning.  
Whatever.  
The one curtain Shimada had drawn back let sun lick over the floor in one broad stroke. The only other light came from a lamp hanging low over a floor-level table. A long black cable held the black lamp in space. The warm glow from the lightbulb made the light wood of the table seem white.  
Same as the fancy bed, set low to the floor, half hidden behind a folding screen made from blue silk, painted with rising birds.   
The bed looked untouched, with an unholy amount of pillows by the headrest and white sheets pristine.  
There were a few long-legged tables set against the walls and each and every one held a plant. Tiny, twisted trees that looked a hundred years old.  
Shimada closed the window behind Jesse and opened the curtain fully. Jesse turned around to look at him inside his room.  
It was like seeing an animal in the wild for the first time. It had looked imposing in the zoo, maybe even dangerous.  
But this? This installed awe so great, it was almost terror.  
Or at least it closed the same hand around Jesse‘s heart. Gentle at first and then ruthlessly closing, until he went to his knees.

Shimada leaned against the window, the sun spilled over his shoulders as a cloak and painted his grey temples liquid silver. His face was set in stark shadows, steep lines and sharp edges. His chest rose softly with every breath, the skin looked warm and alive and completely untouchable. It seemed porcelain with the frame of the black robe folded over Shimada.  
„Did ya catch some rest?“ Jesse‘s voice was hoarse in his throat, desperate. The words nearly jumbled in his mouth.  
Shimada frowned faintly and uncrossed his arms. It drew the robe even wider on his chest and Jesse made a weak step forward.  
„I did. Did you sleep well?“  
A frantic nod. „Your mum‘s havin‘ dinner with ya tonight, yeah?“  
A cautious nod.  
„Bu‘ right now yer free?“ Jesse licked his lips, wiped his hand on his sweatpants and made another step towards Shimada. He felt like a moth.  
His wings were already singed. There was no get-away vehicle. He was trapped.  
And, God. It was bliss.  
„I am.“ Shimada met him halfway and Jesse swallowed roughly. He could smell soap and tea and freshly laundered clothes.  
„Ya always look so put-together.“ He carefully touched the side of Shimada‘s face and rubbed the heel of his thumb against his beard. It was soft and rough at the same time. The carress made Shimada‘s eyes soften, warm like a cat in the sun.  
His full lips curled faintly in a smile and Jesse wanted to be damned if those cheeks didn‘t flush the slightest bit.  
„It is not hard to look collected when standing next to you, Jesse.“  
There went his heart. Shot through by a guy in a robe.  
„God, Hanzo, ya really needa be careful with yer sharp tounge. Ya might hurt someone with it, otherwise.“ He sounded a bit winded, maybe. A wheeze caught in his throat and nearly made him cough.  
Shimada rolled his pretty eyes and sat back down at his desk. His robe made a soft sound that reminded Jesse of the rustle a bird’s wings made. „Was there anything I could help you with, or what brings you to my rooms?“  
He screwed his fountain pen shut and carefully picked his glasses up, setting them on his nose.

Jesse felt his breath slip out of him, as if he were a steaming kettle. Worn thin here and there, not as leakproof as ten years ago. A bit like a bent umbrella. Only usable in that one specific angle. And it always dripped on your shoulder.  
Shimada still wanted no other umbrella. Hopefully.  
Jesse swallowed.  
„Nothin‘ in particular? Just wanted t‘ check up on ya. See if there were any developments in either direction.“ He swallowed again. Quieter now, softer: „Wanted t‘ see ya.“  
„Ah.“ Shimada’s shoulders were a relaxed line. His hands turned the page in a small book. His feet were bare and Jesse could see his neck between the dark hair fanning over his shoulders.  
The angle of the light was reminiscent of Santa Fe and Jesse took heart.  
A soundless step brought him to Shimada’s side. „Didn’tcha miss me?“  
With a burst of laughter Shimada turned over his shoulder to look at Jesse. The dark eyes were bright and shiny with mirth and those lips Jesse thought about constantly, without pause, were wide in a smile that pulled the rug from beneath his feet.  
A painful lurch in his throat and a suckerpunch to his heart, his stomach. Jesse fisted his hand at his side and swallowed helplessly.  
„Oh, Jesse, it was less than a day since I last saw you! A few hours, nothing more.“ Shimada’s gruff voice was sanded down with joy, making him sound five years younger.  
Even the seemingly permanent frown was gone.  
Jesse sat down heavily and rubbed a hand through his beard. His cheeks were red hot underneath.  
„Sorry that I missed ya. No reason to be so rude.“ Self-consciously Jesse ran a hand through his tousled hair and adjusted the collar of his sweater.  
There was a moment of almost anger before Shimada scooted over to him and put a warm hand on his knee. Somehow the man managed to convey honesty even with a huge grin splitting his handsome face.  
„It seems absurd to me to miss a person after only a few hours apart. Especially when I can almost hear you snoring in your room from here.“  
„Oi.“ Jesse laughed weakly and slapped Shimada’s wrist.  
Shimada grinned, leaned in, tightened his hold on Jesse’s knee. His breath was warm on Jesse’s cheek, his ear. The second hand came up and the dragon’s jaws held on to Jesse’s shoulder.  
„It calms me.“  
Jesse blushed and Shimada closed the distance between them.

Their lips met, their beards caught against each other and Jesse hooked his right arm around Shimada’s waist.  
A moment later he was sitting in Shimada’s lap. The journey there was a mystery, not that he heard himself complain.  
One of Shimada’s hands possesively cupped his right hip and Jesse groaned into the warm mouth moving against him. He clawed at whatever inch of skin he could reach and folded his legs tightly around Shimada’s waist.  
„Hanzo, please-“ A well-placed kiss, right on the juncture of neck and shoulder drowned the rest of the sentence in a drawn out moan.  
„Hush. Sing not so loud, they will hear.“ Shimada spoke hotly against Jesse’s ear and kissed the tender skin just below it. Jesse shivered and huffed into Shimada’s hair, praying to any god that would listen, that this here would never stop.  
The light filtering in through the open curtains made Shimada’s lashes fan dark shadows over his cheekbones and the dip of his throat a dive of legends.  
Jesse took it and kissed the soft, warm skin with the urgency of a man starved for salvation.  
He muttered in Spanish, hissing praises against muscle and bone and begging for anything at all. Another touch, another kiss. Whatever he could get he would take.  
Shimada made a curious noise and his hands tightened on Jesse’s body. A pleasant pressure. A vice of emotion.  
One of the smart hands splayed on Jesse’s lower back and the vice closed fully with the scrape of short nails.

With an undignified groan Jesse dropped his forehead on Shimada’s shoulder and inhaled his clean smell. The tender skin on his belly was pulled tight and his head pulsed lowly, hating him for keeping important oxygen from his brain in favour of kissing the pouty lips of one handsome dragon.  
„Jesse.“ It was little more than a breath against his temple.  
Jesse smiled and kissed the side of Shimada’s neck. His fingers carded through the silky hair loosely, lazily, slowly. „Yeah?“  
A pause. The room was pleasantly warm and Shimada’s lap very comfortable. Especially with the cool, slender hand on his skin.  
„Nothing.“ Shimada shook his head and Jesse chuckled.  
„Don’t nothin‘ me, sweetheart. There’s always somethin‘ when people keep sayin‘ there ain’t nothin‘.“ Jesse leaned back, reluctant to slip out of Shimada’s lap. „So, what’s it that gets yer pretty panties in a twist?“  
The affronted look on Shimada’s face was gold. Worth the retaliation that would surely follow some day.  
„It is nothing that you need concern yourself with, so it might as well be nothing to you.“  
„Pff. Family-stuff?“  
„Is it not always to do with the family?“  
„Wouldn’t know. We weren’t never much of a family. Jus‘ some thugs hangin‘, keepin themselves as safe as could be.“ Jesse shrugged and leaned his forehead against Shimada’s. His lashes were long and thick, still completely black and not streaked with silver like hair and brows. Even the beard was gaining silver around the sinful bow of lips.

„Trust me it is always to do with family, as soon as there is the semblance of one. And the bigger they get, the more they meddle in every aspect of your life.“  
A drawn out sigh and Shimada rubbed the knobs of Jesse’s spine with his thumb.  
„I fear my mother will try to make me marry again or something equally foolish. She worries I might be lonely.“  
A dry chuckle and Jesse breathed shallowly, still idly combing Shimada’s hair, and trying to make sure that Shimada would go on talking. He had never spoken so freely and so intimately about himself or his family before.  
„She means well and Father lets her do as she wants, as long as the business keeps running. He is very soft regarding my Mother. Very hard regarding anything, everything, else.“  
There was a hard line around Shimada’s mouth and Jesse gently scratched his scalp.  
„It is his duty to ensure the safety and well-being of the clan, of course he has no time for anything else.“ A huff, closed eyes and a hand rubbing at the frownlines etched into the pale skin.  
„But it still pained me as a boy.“ A moment. „Even now.“  
Jesse pressed a chaste kiss to Shimada’s temple and for a moment he even envied him his parent-inflicted pain. It meant more than a few years spent together. More than a blurry picture and the vaning memory of an orange kitchen and the smell of crispy bacon and cigarette smoke.  
„I hope I can be a better leader for the family, once the time comes.“ Shimada was still for a moment, then he chuckled mirthlessly. „Don’t tell him I said that. He thinks me far below his level.“  
„Wouldn’t dream’a talkin‘ to Mr Shimada Senior. ’S cause ’m fond’a my life and I’d appreciate it not endin‘ quite so soon or sudden.“  
„Me neither.“  
Jesse swallowed and nuzzled his cheek against the top of Shimada’s head. His heart felt twice the size it should be, filling his chest like a balloon.  
„Jesse, I’m very fond of you. And grateful for your prolonged companionship.“ Shimada spoke against his collarbone, his breath warm through the sweater. Jesse’s hand stilled on the broad shoulders, silk robe smooth under his callouses  
„I owe you a great deal.“  
„Nah, you owe me nothin‘, sweetheart. Nothin‘ at all.“  
„Let me have this.“ Shimada’s hands were hot on his arms, gripping his biceps with all the strength he had. Jesse grunted softly under the considerable amount.  
„Darlin‘-“  
„I will have this, if nothing else. I am in your debt, Jesse McCree.“ There was fervor in his voice and an almost crazy gleam to his eyes. Jesse shivered.  
„Hanzo, I’m already yours. No debts, nothin‘. I’d die fer you, period. Ya don’t gotta do anythin‘ anymore for me. Ya already did enough.“  
Jesse leaned his forehead against Shimada’s again and caught every sliver of emotion ghosting through his eyes. They were wide open.  
A bird sang outside and another one answered sweetly.  
For a moment he thought he had to think of something ground-breaking and world-shifting, some big words and concepts flinging themselves from his lips in a haste.  
Nothing came forth but the gentle warmth of Shimada’s lips on his.

 

„Hanzo, come inside.“  
The door slid open and Hanzo did as told. Bowed and walked over to his mother to greet her.   
She took his hand and squeezed it shortly. He squeezed it back and they smiled at each other.  
„It’s good to see you again.“  
„Yes, Mother. I’m glad to see you in good health. Genji asked me to greet you.“  
She adjusted the fall of her sleeves over her legs and nodded. „Thank you. A shame he couldn’t come along.“  
Hanzo fought the urge to roll his eyes. „Someone had to keep an eye on business in America.“  
„Kenta is still in New York, is he not?“ The light in Shimada Yuki‘s room was subtle, making her appear younger than she was. But the colour of her hair was natural. A warm grey, sliver in the warmth of the lamps.  
„He is.“ Hanzo took a sip of the tea standing on the table and frowned at the cup. The tea was underbrewed.  
His mother took some tea too and looked at him from the side. „Is something amiss, Hanzo?“  
There was a very unique way in which she intoned his name. Something with the pronounciation that he had never picked up before. It made him feel a boy again.  
„No.“  
„Something with the tea? It is a new batch your father just got from China. It is quite divine, is it not?“ There was no way to disagree.  
„It is really something.“ Hanzo had to smile into his cup now. McCree said that a  
lot, whenever he wanted to be polite about hating something.   
Yuki didn’t pick up on it. She just nodded, pleased with herself.  
„How do you like America, Hanzo? Are the people as impolite as they say?“ Her small hands were folded around the tea cup as elegantly as Hanzo remembered them. But the skin was thinner, more wrinkles and veins etched into them than he had ever thought to see in them.  
„It depends. Not all flowers that bloom will bear fruit. Not all dented fruit taste bad. You have to wait with the Americans sometimes and sometimes the first impression is all you need. Nothing is as easy as the people say, Mother. You should know that better than me.“ Another sip of the bad tea and Hanzo put the cup aside.  
He smiled at his mother and redid his ponytail.

He flicked the long tail over his shoulder and there was a waft of cigarillo smell that still clung to it.  
„Do you smoke now?“ The eagle-nose was scrunched up. Shimada Yuki did not appreciate the smell of tobacco. Especially not on her son.  
Hanzo scoffed and this time he did roll his eyes. „Mother, I’m thirty-eight now. If I decided to start smoking now, it would be nothing of your concern any longer.“ He smiled a very pleasant smile and gently touched his mother’s wrist.  
„But I don’t, in fact, smoke.“  
„You changed.“ Without any change in pitch she managed to complain. It was a talent Hanzo envied his mother for.  
„Time does that to people. You changed aswell. Father probably did. Genji did. We all changed.“ A pause. A wind chime on the veranda sang. „Change is nothing to fear.“  
Hanzo wasn’t so sure if he would have said the same thing before meeting Jesse McCree.  
Whom he had left in his room, curled up in his pillows, slumbering noisily like an old dog. How he would have liked to simply curl up next to the tall heap of man and knock himself out for the better part of the night.  
The door to the hallway slid open and two servant girls bowed by the entrance.  
„Mistress, dinner for you and the young Lord.“  
„Inside.“  
Another bow and the two girls brought two trays into the room. Fish and meat, intricately arranged, spicy and savoury, along with a helping of seaweed for each. Egg on rice with spring onions. Dango for dessert.  
All of his favourite foods.  
„This looks splendid, thank you.“  
„Welcome home, Hanzo.“ A smile and Hanzo was painfully reminded of the open way McCree smiled at him. Full-bodied and iridescent, vibrant.  
Not the muted elegance his mother showed. Perfect control over the curve of her lips.  
Nothing lopsided and endearing about it at all.  
They ate in silence.  
Yuki left the Dango for Hanzo, not so fond of them herself.

„I’ll be right back, I have something for you.“  
Hanzo looked up at her, one of the three strings of Dango in hand. His eyes tightened and he nodded slowly. „Of course.“  
She left the room soundlessly and Hanzo sighed. Now the presentation of young, suitable women to marry the heir of the Shimada would begin. It was by far time for the poor soul to marry. If one bothered to ask his mother.  
Hanzo scoffed, chuckled and asked one of the girls lingering by the door to bring him Sake. She bowed politely and left to get the only remedy for having to meet young women.  
The Sake arrived barely before his mother came back into the room and Hanzo took the first sip, savouring the taste. If McCree would enjoy Sake?  
The girls cleared the table.  
„Hanzo, here, have a look at this.“ Yuki put a slim black folder on the polished wood. There was no label, nothing.  
Hanzo opened the folder and sighed.  
A young woman looked up at him from a portrait. Her hair was bouffant atop her head, flowers hanging off the side in a pale purple cascade. Exactly the shade of her last collar. There were seven in total.  
Hanzo sighed again. Looked at the short vita on the other side of the folder.  
Saitome Makoto, twenty-seven years old, eldest daughter of a well-known business partner. She had two younger brothers, one still in school, the other one working with their father. She was healthy, intelligent and beautiful.  
Everything a wife should be.

Hanzo found her to be pretty. Ikebana on a table, enjoyable to look at, but not touching at all. He did not care for dead flowers, displayed for a crowd‘s pleasure.  
Yuki looked at him and waited, hands folded loosely in her lap.  
The silence stretched on.  
Hanzo downed his first cup of Sake and poured himself a second one. His mother pointedly made no sound.  
The folder closed with a quiet pap and Hanzo relaxed his face into a neutral smile. The second he turned to look at his mother it slipped.  
Revealed the annoyed frown he had tried to hide.  
„Mother, why do you insist?“  
For a moment Hanzo saw the fire burn in her eyes unchecked and he knew why she had been the one to marry the last heir. Then she looked at the folder on the table. „I worry, Hanzo.“  
„You needn‘t worry about me.“  
She laughed. „Don‘t be so arrogant. If I were to worry about my children with the life we all lead, then I would have been better served not having children at all.“  
Hanzo felt all breath leave him and forced his spine to stay straight.  
„It isn‘t that I don‘t love you and your brother. But there is always the clan to consider first, Hanzo. Something you know.“ A dark glare directed at him. Hanzo drank.  
„And we need an heir. Someone to come after you.“  
„Genji.“  
This time the laugh was cruel. „Your brother may have many talents, but he is no leader and will never be. We need your blood, your spirit to be given on to a son. And there cannot be a son without a wife, so you will marry.“  
Hanzo opened his mouth and Yuki slammed a flat hand on the table.  
„No, child. You will listen.“ She pulled her hand back into her lap and Hanzo heard his blood pound in his ears.  
„I‘m tired of giving you the chance to choose for yourself. You may pick Makoto-san or any of the other girls I presented to you over the years. If you have not chosen tomorrow night, I will pick one for you. This has gone on long enough. You’re nearly forty!“  
She rose and loomed over Hanzo for a moment. Then a gentle hand touched the crown of his head.  
„It is for the best, Hanzo.“ Shimada Yuki floated out of the room and left her eldest son to Sake and brooding.  
He indulged in both.

 

Jesse woke in the middle of the night and stretched on the soft bed. A hundred pillows were gathered around him.  
He turned his head into one of them and inhaled. A sharp, spicy scent, distinctly masculine. A low groan wrenched itself from his throat and with closed eyes Jesse pictured the rolling shoulders that scent clung to every hour of every day.  
Rippling scales down a forged arm, a throat to carry secrets between the chords inside, clavicles so fragile that Jesse wanted to cry against them.  
He rolled on his stomach and folded his left arm under a pillow. The right arm curled, his hand reaching for his neck and holding on. A deep inhale and Jesse could almost feel Shimada‘s gaze clinging to his skin. The exposed rim of it between his shorts and his sweater, the nape of his neck and his long legs.  
He could almost hear the careful steps and the rustling of clothing shedded on the way to the bed. Jesse huffed into the pillow and twitched his fingers against his neck. He couldn‘t just jerk off in another guy‘s bed.  
It was the epitome of rude.  
He pushed up on his elbows and the mattress beside him dipped with the heavy weight of a man dropping from his feet on the low bed.  
„Woah, Jesus on a crutch!“ Jesse looked at Shimada with wide eyes. „Ya scared the crap outta me!“  
Shimada stared at him. He was wearing a loose robe, white and shining in the murk of the room. His face was hidden in shadow.

„Jesse is a woman‘s name.“  
„Hey, now-“  
„My mother wants me to marry.“ Shimada slurred his words. Drunk. He smelled like alcohol too. Jesse sat up and tried to make out more in the bad light.  
„She wouldn‘t need to know anything up to when it‘s too late. She can be fooled and she gave me the choice.“ He sounded very far away.  
Jesse leaned in and gently touched one of the firm shoulders. „Hey, darlin‘, what‘re ya goin‘ on about?“  
„And you keep saying that.“ Sharp eyes tore into Jesse. The voice a slide of gravel on granite. „Why do you keep saying that?“  
„Well...“ Jesse frowned and brushed Shimada‘s hair out of his angry face. „I... It‘s a habit?“  
„So it doesn‘t mean anything.“ Wistfully, sad, melancholic, all of a sudden. Jesse swallowed around a lump in his throat and leaned over Shimada.  
„Darlin‘,I-“  
„Don‘t.“ Jesse frowned. „Not when it doesn‘t mean anything.“ Another pause. „I thought it meant something.“ Jesse‘s heart skipped a couple of beats. „It did for me. Does for me.“  
„Hanzo, sweetheart, don‘t. Hush.“ Jesse placed a finger over the pretty, pretty lips and felt hot breath against his skin. Warm skin on warm skin and a moist tongue for a moment.  
„Why?“ Pouty now. The shift of lips dragged along Jesse‘s finger. This was hard in the dark.  
„It means somethin‘ alright. Never would call ya anything that ain‘t mean somethin‘, honey. Promise.“ His hand moved, cupped Shimada‘s cheek and he stroked the beard with a tender thumb. „Alright?“

A pause. Heavy breath. „What?“ Jesse chuckled and dropped his chin on his chest. „You talk weird. I don‘t understand you.“  
„Yeah, pardon me. Ya ain‘t so sharp on talkin‘ proper yerself.“ A frown and a pouty noise. „Ya slur, darlin‘.“  
„Of course I slur. I am drunk.“ It was said with pride and Jesse laughed softly. Ran his hand through Shimada‘s soft hair.  
„Drunk men should sleep and talk in the mornin‘.“  
„Will you make breakfast for us?“  
„Sure, darlin‘, anythin‘ ya want. Anythin‘.“ Jesse pressed a chaste kiss to Shimada‘s forehead and was rewarded with a drowsy hum.  
They curled up together under the blanket and Jesse only hissed once when cold feet pressed against his thighs.  
Shimada snuggled up to him, there just was no other word for it, and mumbled something against his collar. Jesse just hummed in agreement and folded his arms around the drunk man.  
„Jus‘ sleep, all‘s well, dear, all‘s well.“

 

Jesse sneaked out of bed in the morning and left a sleeping Shimada in the pillows, dark hair fanning over them and chest rising and falling softly.  
He pulled his sweatpants on and hurried over the veranda back into his own room. It was still dark outside.  
Jesse brushed his teeth in his small bathroom and snagged the comb through his hair again. Then he set out to hunt down a kitchen and make some breakfast.  
After half an hour of frantic walking around a house far too big and labyrinthine for his liking Jesse conceded defeat for now and stepped on one of the wooden walkways to smoke. He leaned on the dainty railing and lit his cigarillo.  
Socked feet came up from the right side.  
„Yo, McCree-san. Can I borrow your lighter? Mine died.“ A cocky voice and Jesse turned to an eyeful of fiery red.  
„Hey, boy.“ He tossed his lighter at the boy with the mohawk and smiled around his cigarillo. The boy caught the zippo easily and flicked the flame on before mumbling a thanks.  
„Ya gotta gimme somethin‘ for that fire, boy.“ Jesse looked the boy up and down. He was wearing checkered pants and a white t-shirt. Yellow socks. Piercings in his ears. His eyes were green. „Yeah? What you want, old man?“ His grin was cheeky and he stuck his tongue out at Jesse, showing off his piercing. A small black bead in the middle of his tongue.

Jesse grinned back and tapped ash off his cigarillo. The boy set the zippo on the railing and puffed cigarette-smoke into the cold air. Goosebumps on his arms.  
„Ya gotta show me where the hell this damn house has the kitchen. I gotta hit some breakfast.“  
A snort of laughter and then the boy was cackling. „Man, you should hear yourself talk! It doesn‘t even sound like English anymore!“  
Jesse let the boy laugh and smoked. A chilly wind teased his bare neck and crept under his sweater.  
„Name‘s Tatsuya, and kitchen is that way here. Follow me!“ The boy‘s voice was still warm with laughter and Jesse grabbed the zippo before following the yellow socks into the house.  
By now there were people around. Walking, talking, looking at him with open hatred in their cold eyes.  
Jesse squared his shoulders, sweatpants, sweater and all, and used his long legs to keep up with Tatsuya‘s quick steps. The smell of smoke hung around them like a cloud and he knew that his eyes looked dead.  
Dead-eye. They had called him Dead-eye up in Chicago the two times he had been there.  
She said „Reputation“ when Jesse asked why. The taste of beer and smoke on his barely legal tongue. The beat from the club under the flat vibrated in his belly. The girl wore her black hair in a tail, her dress was red and her hands warm.  
The name hadn‘t stuck, but Jesse sometimes woke in the middle of the night with a voice in his head that whispered it over and over again.  
He knew the look that came with the name. Had seen it in enough mirrors and pictures.  
Tatsuya looked at him over his shoulder and his jaw went slack, eyes wide in awe and a hint of fear in the set of his hands.  
„Ya alright, boy?“  
„You look wicked.“  
Jesse winked and the boy took a turn, leading them down a narrow, dark hallway.

A wide door to the left opened and they stood in a bustling kitchen.  
„Kitchen! Here we are.“ Tatsuya leaned against the doorway and looked at Jesse from below his dark lashes. „Who are you making breakfast for? Yourself?“ The boy licked his lips, piercing glinting and Jesse chuckled. The tilted hips were a bit much.  
„Not just for me. I have t‘ feed a dragon too.“  
Another lick of the lips and Tatsuya formed a small „O“ with them. „There are a lot of dragons here...“ His try at a sultry voice was almost adorable.  
„Boy, yer too young fer me.“ Jesse gave his shoulder a hearty slap and stepped past him into the room. „I like‘em closer to my own age, a‘right? ‘S nothin‘ against ya, yer a good fella, jus‘ a few years too young. Try someone yer own age.“ A squeeze and he let go, turning away from Tatsuya.  
„Hey, McCree.“  
He looked at the boy. The green eyes were open and honest and wide and so, so young. Maybe twenty. Maybe. „This house will try to kill you.“  
Something inside the kitchen clattered.  
„I‘d hate to see you go, you‘re a good man.“ He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something more, but turned around and left.

Jesse exhaled with a whistle and licked his lips. Rubbed his beard and found a free spot in the kitchen to steal ingredients and make a wicked breakfast for Shimada.  
He turned Tatsuya‘s words around in his head, over and over. They didn‘t open any new suspicions, but they also didn‘t close any.  
Jesse flipped the pancakes single-handedly (haha) from the pan on a plate. A piece of butter, some corn-syrup (god bless he had found some) and a handful of berries around the pancakes. The french toast was already done and the tea was just like Shimada liked it. A cup of coffe for himself and Jesse picked the tray up with only slight difficulties.  
He walked back to Shimada‘s room and opened the door with his foot.  
„Mornin‘, sunshine! Breakfast!“  
The door closed behind him with a soft sound and Shimada grunted in the pillows. Jesse laughed. Walked over to the bed and set the tray down on the floor by it. Low beds had that one benefit.  
„Hey.“ He stroked the back of his hand over Shimada‘s temple. A huff into the sheets was the only answer he got. „Darlin‘, I made pancakes and french toast. I brought you tea.“  
Shimada blinked up at him with one bleary eye. His hair was a dark curtain around his shoulders. Long and tousled. His beard was smudged around the edges.  
„Thank you.“ The dark voice was even rougher than normal. Pure granite. Jesse smiled lazily.  
„Nah, no problem. Jus‘ sit up an‘ we can have breakfast in bed.“ He wiggled out of his sweatpants and picked the tray up again. Slipped under the covers and set the tray down between them.

Shimada yawned, stretched like a cat and pulled himself upright. Brushed his hair out of his face with one hand and rubbed his neck with the other. Blinked a few times and took a deep breath. Then he looked at Jesse, at the tray and back at Jesse.  
„You made breakfast again.“  
Like in Santa Fe. Jesse grinned and nodded, handed Shimada his tea and took a sip of coffee. „I felt like it. An‘ you asked fer it last night.“  
Shimada nodded, cradled his tea against his broad chest. The robe he wore had slipped over one shoulder, baring pale skin to the dim light of the room. Dark hair over the left shoulder and Jesse licked his lips. Picked a french toast up and tipped some of the stray cinnamon into his coffee.  
„I was drunk. I apologize for any ungainly behaviour.“  
„Nah, ’s alright. Ya were a bit weird, nothin‘ bad.“  
Shimada chose pancakes over french toast after a shy smile and cut into the first thick one, syrup welling up from the cut.  
He hummed around the bite and closed his eyes.  
„Never thought ya for a sweet one.“ Jesse smiled.  
„I never took your for a romantic.“ Shimada‘s eyes sparkled in a secret smile and Jesse felt himself blush.  
Sometimes that damn guy had a way to get under Jesse‘s skin with a handful of words. And not in the unpleasant way.  
„Why, much obliged, Shimada-san.“ Jesse grinned at him and Shimada snorted through the nose. Another bite of pancake and Jesse picked a second french toast up. His coffe tasted a bit like cinnamon.  
The blue silk of the folding screen was translucent in the backlight. The birds flying as dark shapes. They ate in silence, ankles touching and shoulders brushing from time to time.  
Jesse liked it.  
Liked the quiet spaces they carved for themselves in the upturned hell of lifes they led at the moment. A breath here, breakfast there and the freedom to look at each other across a room and mute the rest of the world for the span of a glance.  
Jesse liked the warm feeling it gave him and the heat under his collar when Shimada leaned in and kissed him.  
Jesse liked Shimada. Liked Hanzo.  
With a sip of coffee he shirked around the other L-word and busied himself with other things. Counting grey hairs on Shimada‘s head for example.  
Reality would catch them early enough.

 

Shimada Satoshi was a small man. Smaller than his two sons. Not as broad in the shoulders as his first son and not as long-limbed as his second son.  
His silver-grey hair was cut short, crisp in the neck and strict over the ears. His face was clean-shaven and hard-jawed. His cheekbones were weak and his eyebrows heavy.  
The dark eyes piercing.  
His kimono was richly embroidered and heavy but his shoulders were squared. His wife stood behind him and they faced their eldest son with faces as expressionless as sheets of paper.  
„Father.“ Hanzo bowed and felt his golden ribbon slide along his neck. He wore his hair in a traditional topknot, hakama and kyudo-gi in muted blues. The gold was the only speck of colour he had chosen.  
„Welcome home. I hope your trip was sufficient.“  
Satoshi cleared his throat and Hanzo rose again. „Son. My trip was sufficient.“ Yuki stood still as a statue. Satoshi folded his arms behind his back. „I heard there was trouble in America.“  
„An attempt on my life. Diverted and avenged. Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Father. I have it under control.“  
„Your uncle thought different when he called me.“  
Hanzo gritted his teeth and kept his face as calm as possible. His eyes were stormy despite the effort and he felt his hands clench of their own accord.  
„My uncle has a peculiar outlook on most given situations. They seldomly align with mine, though I still appreciate his advice.“  
Yuki raised a single eyebrow, making herself look haughtier than ever. Satoshi simply pursed his lips.  
An uncomfortable silence caught the room.

Hanzo wished for a rustle, a jingle of spurs, a cough. Anything to break the tension.  
But McCree had not been invited to the private conversation. He was waiting outside in the garden, smoking, feeding birds and probably petting the cat.  
„Your uncle spoke of abuse.“  
Hanzo waited. He would not start to defend himself until his father started accusing. Otherwise a loss would be marked down, before the fight even started.  
„Arrogance and infatuation.“  
Hanzo kept a blush to the rise of his throat, obstructed by the collar of his gi. Clenched his jaw so hard his cheeks whitened.  
„Something about an American.“  
Yuki looked at her husband‘s shoulder and then at her son. A question on her lips, in the curl of her brow.  
Hanzo smelled his chance on the ice wind his father‘s eyes chased through the room. His drunk thoughts from last night still at the forefront of his mind Hanzo looked at his feet.  
Seemingly ashamed.  
Yuki whispered something to her husband behind her fan. Satoshi huffed. Then: „Speak your mind, son.“  
Hanzo licked his lips, shifted once and then looked his father square in the eye. „They saved my life. I owe them mine and they asked to be freed from the clutches of the Deadlock Rebels. I complied, honour and glory in my heart.“  
Satoshi crossed his arms over his chest and Yuki pocketed her fan. She loved dramatics.

„I never once let my eye stray from the potential benefits the Clan could have. And the Elders gave me free reign. They saw no fault in my actions! The Clan will rise strengthened from this, Father and we can fill the gaps I will tear through America with our own men. The Route 66 will be ours and a foothold in the south comes automatically. Our influence will excel our wildest dreams!“  
„You think you can do this?“ Satoshi‘s voice was cold. Unimpressed, almost bored. Yuki pursed her painted lips faintly.  
„I think I can do this, as long as the Clan is with me. I do all this for the Family.“ Hanzo bowed, presented his neck with grace.  
Another whispered word between his parents and his mother stepped forward.  
„Son, this American you mentioned. Who are they?“  
„Jesse McCree.“ Hanzo rose and gave no mind to the look on his face, no willpower to suppress the warmth that name alone brought to his voice.  
„A woman‘s name.“  
Hanzo looked down. Played shy in front of his mother to make this nothing more than a white lie.  
„You like this person.“ His father. Surprised and grumpy at the same time. He wouldn‘t obstruct to a marriage, but with an American? Hanzo smiled faintly.  
„Yes.“ A simple word. No lie in it.  
Satoshi huffed, crossed his arms and looked at Hanzo with a sharp gaze. „I will think this through. Attend the meeting tonight, Hanzo, and we will talk afterwards about this person.“  
„And my uncle?“ Hanzo looked at his father and the frustration he tried to keep bottled up seeped through tiny cracks into his voice.  
„I will talk to your uncle.“ The final word.  
Hanzo bowed to his father and mother and turned around. Bowed again at the door and left the meeting room. He stood in the hallway for a moment and gathered his thoughts.  
Then he swiftly walked to the garden where he had left McCree to his own devices.

 

Jesse had a cat in his lap and a song on his lips. It snowed. His shoulders and hat were already dusted white, when the snowflakes suddenly stopped.  
A round shadow enveloped him from above.  
He looked up and the cat did too. Her grey head turned and she made a soft sound. Jesse smiled.  
Shimada was standing over him in a blue ensemble, with a golden ribbon in his hair. The paper umbrella he was holding kept the snow at bay. A reverse snow-globe.  
There was a peculiar expression on the sharp face. Jesse tilted his head and invited Shimada to sit with him.  
He accepted graciously and held the umbrella over their heads, giving them a pastel green shelter. The cat purred under his hand and Jesse laughed.  
„My parents will probably want to meet you tomorrow.“ Shimada’s voice sounded almost guilty.  
„Oh? That a bad thing?“ Jesse scratched the cat’s chin and then stroked the fur over her back.  
Shimada looked out over the garden. He was quiet, still like a statue and then inhaled deeply. „It depends on your take on marriage.“  
Jesse‘s head jerked up and he studied the profile Shimada showed him. His cheeks were flushed and his brows knitted. Jesse felt his heart like a fuse, shortening quickly, and his gut like a stone pulling him down. Drowning him in fear.  
„What, darlin‘? What do ya mean?“

Another deep inhale. The cat jumped from Jesse’s lap and darted off. Her grey tail vanished behind a corner.  
„My parents think you are a woman.“ A beat. „They might want us to marry.“  
And suddenly Shimada’s voice cracked with speed. „But I don’t know yet. My father will talk to me again tonight, after the meeting. My mother wants me to marry since I turned twentyfive and she is hell-bent on me marrying you. I’m sorry I didn’t talk this through with you beforehand, but the situation was too good to let it pass and I was scared they would send you away. I didn’t know how to keep you, so I thought that would definitely work out.“  
He looked at the snow falling on the path and swallowed heavily.  
It needed three tries.  
„I’m sorry, Jesse. I will go and tell them you don’t want to marry, that you are a man. I apologize for trying to decide this over your head. It was dishonourable and cowardly.“  
Jesse rubbed his hand over his face and sighed loudly. „Darlin‘ don’t go breakin‘ yer neck over this. Ain’t that bad a situation.“ He grinned and managed to keep it natural, easy. The fear trying to choke him locked deep away.  
„We’ll manage. We had worse.“ Jesse laughed and nudged Shimada’s shoulder until the man cracked a weak smile.  
„How, Jesse?“  
„I don’t know? Shave me, dress me up and hope nobody questions yer taste in women?“ He chuckled and Shimada frowned. „Make me wear a veil and pretend I‘m a mute? We‘ll find somethin‘ that works.“  
Shimada‘s eyes glazed over and then cleared suddenly. An idea resting high on his strong brow. „I have to call Genji.“

„Good. ’Kay. Let’s call Genji.“ Jesse took the umbrella from Shimada, stood up and looked down at him with a frown. „Why are we callin‘ Genji?“  
„I am calling Genji. You need to eat something. It‘s past lunch already.“ Shimada shook his head to hide his chuckle and stood too. „There‘s still some in my room.“  
Jesse grinned and nodded with a lopsided shrug. „Alrigh‘. Lead the way, darlin‘.“  
Shimada closed the umbrella with a twist of his strong wrist and Jesse followed his soft steps with his lumbering gait.  
They walked into the house and passed through a row of rooms. Shimada simply slid parts of the walls to the side and closed them behind Jesse again.  
„Are all Japanese houses mazes? Ain‘t no way I ever find my way here.“  
„Traditional houses are very openly built, so that you can adjust the amount and size of your rooms fairly easy. It makes for a great place to play games.“  
„Yeah, I can imagine it.“ Jesse chuckled and tried to shake the image of a smaller version of the Shimada brothers running wild in the huge house. „Guess ya were the best at playin‘ Hide-an‘-Seek.“  
„We were not half bad.“ Shimada tossed a careless smile over his shoulder at Jesse. Who was left sputtering by the unexpected vibrancy. But a shadow cupped the smile.

Shimada‘s brows were still set in a nervous frown and the fists were white-knuckled.  
Jesse followed the man back to his room and sat down with his back against a wall. Shimada picked his sleek phone up from his desk and stood by the window. Dialed a number and waited.  
The light spilling through the long row of windows painted slanted shadows over the mats on the floor and licked a bright stripe over the folding screen. It illuminated a single rising bird.  
Shimada opened his mouth to say something as a rumble crested through the rooms. Loud and jarring.  
A hundred running feet.  
The phone connected with the floor and Shimada was already armed and crouched low in the doorway, peeking out into the hallway.  
„Get your gun.“  
Jesse bolted for Peacekeeper.

 

Hanzo soundlessly crept through the hallways, keeping one eye out for anything out of the ordinary and one for the soft steps of McCree in his periphery.  
Who was still not at the top of his game and Hanzo wouldn‘t take too well to see him get hurt again.  
A hand on the handle of his katana and his bow slung over his shoulder Hanzo was half sure he looked out of the ordinary and not much else.   
After the stampede had quieted down again the house had turned suspiciously mute.   
McCree shifted his grip on the revolver and the ridiculous spur set into the handle chimed quietly.  
Not a noise in reaction.  
They looked at each other, faces kept blank very carefully. Hanzo turned back front and fed off the spark of irritation he had seen in the set of McCree‘s eyes.  
He carefully led them to the center of the complex, where the meeting room and his parents‘ personal rooms were situated. If anybody knew what the hell that had been then that would be his father.  
Hanzo held up a hand to stop McCree in his tracks. His breath was hot against Hanzo‘s ear.  
„Yer alright?“  
„Be quiet.“ Hanzo shot a glare over his shoulder and listened intently for any sound from the innermost rooms.  
Nothing. Silence, thicker than an empty grocery store or an abandoned station. It sent a shiver down his spine and a warm finger rubbed over it for a breath.  
Hanzo waited a moment longer, drawing strength from McCree‘s sturdy presence in his back.  
Then he set off for the meeting room.

A short sprint through the hallway and Hanzo carefully pushed the door open and peered into the room.  
It was deserted. McCree leaned over Hanzo’s shoulder and Hanzo turned his cheek into his warmth.  
„Stay close.“  
McCree nodded and followed Hanzo with quiet steps through the room. They kept close to the wall but there was still no sound to be heard besides their careful breathing.  
„This ain’t exactly normal procedures for welcomin‘ guests I hope, darlin‘.“  
Hanzo shot a devastating glare at McCree and leaned an ear against the hidden doorway, leading to his parent’s rooms.  
For a moment there was nothing, then a hitched breath and a muffled „Yuki!“. It sounded like his father, a hand covering his mouth, to smother any and all possible sounds.  
McCree inhaled carefully and his cloak brushed against Hanzo’s shoulder.  
The stump of his left arm rested against Hanzo’s waist for a moment and after a deep inhale they opened the door.

Sparkling dust danced slowly in a slanted streak of light and the tatami glowed faintly. The light funnels in the ceiling were covered with snow and still. Hanzo blinked, mouth opened in a silent exclamation.  
His mother’s hair was dishevelled, torn from her intricate hairstyle it cascaded over her shaking shoulders. She knelt at the feet of a man with a silver blade at her throat.  
Her husband stood at the far wall with his hands loosely at his sides. There was nothing but cold hatred in his dark eyes.  
A glove-clad hand covered the lower half of his face. The man behind Satoshi at least had the decency to look ashamed by his own actions.  
The one threatening Yuki looked far too pleased for Hanzo’s taste. A smug smile was directed at him from behind his mother.  
Hanzo rose to his full height, eyes furious, face scrunched up in a snarl. „What is this?“ His hand was whiteknuckled around his katana.  
McCree lit a cigarillo behind his shoulder.  
„Treason, young Lord.“ The man threatening Yuki had a very unpleasant voice. Nasal and rude. „We thought today was as good a chance as any.“ He had thin hair and a woman’s face.  
Hanzo hated him.  
The man behind his father was tall, thickly built with a heavy-set jaw and dyed hair. „Hitting two flies with one swat, so to say.“ A rough voice, unintelligent and brutal. „The parents and the heir.“  
Detest.

McCree whistled and Hanzo hid the drawing of the first few inches of polished steel behind the noise and his hakama.  
„I ain’t got a thing ya fellas just said, but I guess it ain’t somethin‘ very polite. So I wanna say somethin‘.“ He blew a billow of smoke against the light funnel and Satoshi’s eyes widened.  
Hanzo had other worries than the exasperated and angry stare of his silenced father. At the forefront of his mind were the unpredictable actions of one Jesse McCree.  
„I give y’all three minutes to confess who’s yer boss and who’s behind all this damn shit that’s been goin‘ on since Santa Fe, ’cause I gotta say I’m damn tired o‘ it all.“  
Hanzo shifted the grip on his sword so subtly that the two men, enthralled by McCree’s demanding personality, didn’t notice him move at all.  
Yuki inhaled carefully and looked at the American from below her long hair. Hanzo caught her gaze and she nodded with a drop of her lids. A beat of silence in which the two men stared at McCree with open mouths.

They looked at each other and Satoshi and Hanzo moved at the same time.

Hanzo drew his sword and cut a trail of smoke McCree let out. The man threatening Yuki had no time to let out a scream.  
To Hanzo’s right a broad back met the tatami intimately.  
McCree whispered a quiet „Woah“ and carefully stepped further into the room.  
Hanzo helped his mother up. Her hand was cold and her face very pale.  
His father knelt on the chest of the second offender and had a thumb pressed into the hollow of his throat.  
He snarled nearly the same questions into the man’s face that McCree had asked not a minute prior. Only in Japanese, so that the man would understand him.  
Hanzo turned fully to the two to make sure that he wasn’t missing a second of the confession. If Kenta was behind all this, then Hanzo would take care of him personally.  
He heard ripping paper and breaking wood as he made a step towards his father and the next thing he knew was the smell of tatami and the feeling of it against his cheek.  
A gun pressed into his skull and he heard the telltale click of a hammer being cocked. A drop of sweat stung in his left eye. His katana lay out of reach, a foot on his wrist.

Anger burned tight in his heart and he felt his face contort under the force of it.  
At least five people had barged through the wall. They were shouting at each other, panic high in their voices.  
Then Hanzo felt a soft, soundless step in the corner of the room shake the floor. An exhale and the smell of cedar and vanilla thickened.  
The gun at the back of his head eased and Hanzo turned his cheek against the tatami to look at McCree. He stood below one of the light funnels and had his revolver in hand. Hip-high and glinting beautifully.  
His cigarillo smoked half-forgotten in the corner of his wide lips.

„Fellas, I wouldn’t touch’im if I was you.“ Another step. The intruders stared at him and Hanzo felt the gun in his hair waver.  
„I’ve got six bullets and they may have yer names on’em. Haven’t checked yet, but I got an inklin‘.“

A metallic rattle and Hanzo strained to see what McCree was doing. But a shift of his head brought the barrel of the gun hard against his head. The tatami scratched harshly across his cheek and he hissed more in anger than in pain.  
There was a sharp inhale from his mother and a gasp from his father.  
Hanzo recalled his mother’s words and had to smile. So she didn’t worry, huh?  
McCree clicked his tongue and the metallic rattle repeated itself. His voice had never before been quite that rugged.

„Now ya did it, boy.“

A moment of loaded, heavy silence that nearly drowned Hanzo. Then there rang six shots, almost as one.  
Like birds taking flight or a cloud-cover finally parting to show the sun.  
Breath rushed Hanzo’s lungs and the gun pressing into his head clattered uselessly to the floor.  
Six bodies hit the floor and one man screamed. It was the one his father had held down earlier.  
A hand fluttered over Hanzo’s hair and he was carefully lifted up, against the warm wool of McCree’s cloak.  
„Darlin‘?“ A hint of fear in the rough tumble of breath on Hanzo’s chafed cheek. He inhaled the scent clinging to the wool and tried to shake the constant flipping and turning out of his brain. It worked not nearly as well as he had hoped.  
After allowing himself a second of weakness he pushed himself up and quickly surveyed the room.  
Six bodies, blood seeping into the tatami and his father holding the seventh man by a dislocated shoulder. His mother held a tanto in her fine hands and her eyes were heavy.  
She stood at her husband’s side, ready to slit the man’s throat if he dared to make another move.

McCree knelt on the floor and looked up at Hanzo with sweat beading on his forehead. His shoulders were shaking subtly and Hanzo was more than half sure that he was in pain. He rested a hand on McCree’s shoulder and turned back to his father.  
Who leaned very close to the traitor’s face and looked him in his beady eyes.  
„I will not repeat myself.“  
The man swallowed and the stench of piss meddled with the smell of blood and smoke. Hanzo wrinkled his nose and subconsciously made a step backwards.  
A hand cupped his calf and he looked at McCree with wide eyes.  
„Jus‘ need a moment, darlin‘.“ His voice was raw and rimmed with blood-curdling pain.  
Hanzo brushed the hat off his head and cupped the brown hair in a palm, pressing McCree’s cheek against his leg.  
„It is alright.“  
Sunlight broke on the barrels of guns and unsheathed katana.  
Hanzo felt warm breath through his hakama and closed his eyes for a moment.  
Life was just a bit much recently.

 

People ran through the hallways, shouting and tearing through rooms, seemingly at random. Then and now shots rang through gardens and high-ceilinged rooms.  
Mercy had no place in the blood-thirsty mob ripping through traitorous chests as if they were made from cloth.  
Hanzo stood in a cold gust of wind and watched the tall man with the dyed hair unbutton his shirt. Satoshi gave him the undeserved honour of being his second man. His katana gave off a shimmer in the cold light.  
Yuki stood under the roof of the veranda and watched, grey hair whipping across her face in the wind. Hanzo felt her eyes on his back.  
The white shirt fell around the man’s hips and he knelt down, head bowed, shoulders shaking.  
He didn’t cry out when cold steel tore through his belly and Satoshi swung the katana not a second too late.  
White snow bore red blossoms and silence filled the flat expanse of the yard.

Then Satoshi sighed and wiped his blade with a piece of white silk. His eyes were clouded by shadows, his heavy brow drawn.  
Hanzo swallowed and smoothed hair out of his face.  
Soft steps on the wooden veranda and the rustle of someone bowing. „Shimada-dono, we have apprehended all traitors. The kyuuden is safe again.“  
Satoshi nodded and Hanzo caught himself before doing the same. He was not yet leader of the Shimada-gumi.  
„Bring the American out.“ Satoshi’s voice was clear as ever and Yuki looked at her eldest son with an unreadable face.  
Hanzo stood straight and waited.  
Waited until McCree, back in full outfit, sat down on the rim of the veranda to pull on his boots. He tapped the heels against the stone of the yard and walked towards Hanzo. He tipped his head into the direction of the crumpled body, mouth opened to ask a question when he suddenly stopped and turned.  
Satoshi had extended his swordarm and pointed the tip of his blade at McCree. Who stood very still, knees slightly bent and arms under the cloak.  
„Well, hello, there, sir. You must be the infamous Shimada Satoshi.“ McCree tipped his hat and his arm retreated back under his cloak.  
Hanzo watched his father inhale deeply. Both his brows were lifted high.

„You, gaijin, saved my family.“ There was begrudged gratitude evident in the set of shoulders and the sagging of the pointed blade.  
Hanzo dared to breathe. Yuki looked on with a carefully guarded expression, her arms were artfully arranged at her sides, sleeves covering her hands.  
Satoshi sheathed his sword and looked McCree in his handsome face. Hanzo swallowed thickly and felt the need to insert himself into the conversation.  
Sweat pooled under his arms and at the small of his back, a drop ran down his temple and Hanzo bit his lip.  
„That I did.“ McCree nodded and shrugged with one shoulder. „Everyone woulda done it.“  
Hanzo caught the small grin McCree tossed at him and smiled back.  
Satoshi tilted his head from side to side, an old dragon, thinking. „I know no gaijin that would have acted so honourably.“  
Another gust of wind and Yuki moved with it like a reed. Her face still blank and her hair open around her face. A bruise was forming at the corner of her mouth.  
Satoshi pulled his limbs close, looked at McCree again and bowed. A very subtle tint of his torso, face towards the yard.

McCree blinked once, comically, like a character out of a cartoon. The caricature of a cowboy, travelling to Japan, eyes wide, mouth even wider and arms held away from the body. Hat tilted on the unkempt hair and a some form of tobacco hanging from a corner of the open mouth.  
Hanzo swallowed a snort and watched McCree bend his broad neck.  
He pulled his hat from his head and bowed deeper than Satoshi did. At least something.  
„I would do it again, sir, just so ya know.“  
And with a winning smile McCree rose from his bow and set his hat back atop his hair. Hanzo watched his mother inhale, her lips parted slightly.  
Satoshi blinked slowly and nodded. There was something in the curl of his hand that Hanzo had never seen there before. Some form of respect, maybe.  
His father’s eyes caught Hanzo and he stepped forward, to McCree’s side. Lifted his chin proudly and squared his shoulders.  
„Hanzo.“

It was the first time that Satoshi said his name this visit. Hanzo swallowed and ignored the sting of sweat on his rashed cheek and in his eye.  
„Yes, father?“ He answered in Japanese out of habit.  
„I cannot allow you the marriage.“ A spark of humour in the deep-set eyes and Hanzo allowed himself a smirk and a one-shouldered shrug.  
„It was worth a shot. The dragon tries his best to win a situation with wits.“  
„It would have worked, under normal circumstances.“ Satoshi nodded and Hanzo felt himself blush. He dropped his gaze to the snowy yard, like a school boy.  
McCree lit a cigarillo behind his back and Hanzo looked at his father again.  
„Thank you.“  
„However I think this union good. You two will be present at the talk tonight. The Elders will be presented with the facts we garnered and we shall see how they react.“ A flock of birds passed over the yard and Satoshi followed them with his eyes.  
„Maybe the fate of this family has been in wrinkled hands for too long.“  
Hanzo wanted to say something, but his father turned briskly and walked to his wife. „Yuki, come. We will set you at ease.“  
Yuki nodded elegantly and followed her husband into the house.

Hanzo and McCree stood in the cold wind, a body not ten steps to their right, and slowly turned towards each other.  
McCree held on to his hat, wind threatening to rip it away. Hanzo pulled his golden ribbon from his hair and let the wind brush through it. The golden silk he slipped into the folds of his hakama.  
Then he carefully looked up at McCree. The brown eyes were warm and confused.  
A hound.  
Hanzo rubbed the side of McCree’s thick beard and leaned in. Pressed his forehead against the broad shoulder and inhaled the scent clinging to the woolen cloak.  
McCree’s hand covered Hanzo’s waist and he couldn’t care less if anybody saw them like this.   
„What did yer father say?“ The chest Hanzo leaned against rumbled softly and he sighed. There was nothing quite like this.  
„We attend the meeting tonight and my father will talk to the Elders about the treason that has warped itself through this family.“  
McCree bellowed a short laugh and pressed a kiss into Hanzo’s palm.

„Kenta?“ His teeth were smooth against Hanzo’s palm and a shiver crawled over his back. „We should go inside, yer shiverin‘, darlin‘.“  
Hanzo shook his head. „I am alright, Jesse.“  
A warm exhale over the crown of his head. „Was it Kenta tho?“  
Hanzo nodded and moved his hand into McCree’s tangled hair. „Not only Kenta.“

Somewhere a wind-chime shook apart in the wind and a dog barked.  
„Things will change now.“


End file.
